


Sins & Virtues

by orphan_account



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Scientists, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everyone's lives are ridden with secrets - some small, some large, and some able to completely wreck a relationship. Park Jimin is no exception, being the soft-hearted, sympathetic son of a charismatic businessman (and businessmen had little to no space for 'empathy'). His father isn't the kind, giving, and charitable person television depicts him to be - instead, he's a slightly bipolar, controlling, and obsessive (with what, Jimin wasn't sure of) man. He's an expert on putting on masks, a skill he'd learned from hisbelovedfather.What he doesn't know is that right below his feet, in the basement of the house he'd thought 'boring', lays a secret that not even he should know of.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZeArk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeArk/gifts), [spookytaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookytaes/gifts).



> ( summary was written on a whim, forgive me ^^' )
> 
> i hope you ,, enjoy ?  
> beta'd by ze ♡

Jimin ran his finger down the cracked spine of the book. The yellowed pages practically crumbled apart in his hands, releasing an interesting scent that somehow reminded him of the antiques stores (which he❜d only ever seen in pictures, unfortunately). He hadn❜t been allowed outside with accompaniment since the day he knew what ❛outside❜ was and, ironically, he was more scared of his escorts than of whatever ❛dangers❜ awaited him outside, in the streets. 

❝Ah, Jimin.❞ The deep voice belonging to his father split the even silence of the vast library. ❝What are you reading?❞ 

He quickly shut the book and slipped it beneath his thigh, (hoping it wouldn❜t crumble to pieces), picking up a random book from the large assorted pile—there were information pamphlets to thick business books to poetry anthologies to classics—strewn across the coffee table next to him. Flipping open the book, Jimin stared intently at the glossy pages—for all of the books in his father❜s library were of the best quality, even when said man never stepped foot into the ❛dusty old place❜—trying to focus on the words rather than the fact that the book was trembling in his fingers. He sank deeper into the plush leather armchair, his throat constricting as he tried to swallow down the saliva that had suddenly accumulated in his mouth. His stare burned so harshly at the page, he wouldn❜t have been surprised if two holes burned through the paper. ❝U-Um... _Spring_ _Snow_ , by Yukio Mishima.❞

❝Good, good. You must learn to improve your Japanese.❞ His father smiled—though his smiles all looked like grimaces, the little white scar on his upper lip stretching, almost cruelly. All the women on television called his smile ❛blinding❜ and ❛the eighth wonder of the world❜. They gushed about his charisma and looks, running their hands through his dyed hair and down his well-formed shoulders. The pink-haired would listen, and compare their descriptions to photos of his father—Jimin just couldn❜t see what they saw in him. 

His stomach backflipped and he turned back to the stark-white pages, focusing on the letters swimming over the page. ❝T-This is a-actually the English version... I thought it would be more sufficient to, um, improve my English? Since w-we are leaving for America in t-three weeks❜ time.❞ Scrambling through the pile of books, he tugged out the original Japanese version, his shoulders sinking inward, father❜s judging gaze drifting over his hunched shoulders. ❝I will read the J-Japanese version as well, if you❜d like me to—❞

❝It❜s fine,❞ his father dismissed, turning away. (Jimin didn❜t miss the flicker of distaste in his eyes.) Fear curled in his gut as he shrank back, the books cradled in his lap. ❝I have work to do anyway. A spoiled child like you wouldn❜t understand how hard it is to make time like this for us to  _ bond _ .❞  _ There it was again.  _ If there was something Jimin feared the most of his father (and trust him, his father was a very frightening man), it would be how erratic his mood swings seem to start—one second he❜d be asking about a book and the next he❜d be shouting insults. ❝ _ Anyways _ ,❞ he continued, ❝your tutor will be arriving in twenty minutes. Make sure you❜re out of those disgusting house-clothes and dressed appropriately— I can❜t have a child who doesn❜t dress properly.❞ He then turned around and left

Wordlessly, Jimin stood up. The books fell carelessly onto the carpeted floor and he fell to his knees to pick them up, slipping the tattered book he❜d been reading previously beneath his sweater. The coldness of the rough cover pressed uncomfortably against the warm skin of his stomach, his fingers holding the hem of the sweater down as he crept out of the library.  _ I ❜ m smuggling a book out of his own house ❜ s library _ , Jimin thought, the irony of the statement bringing his lips into a wry smile.  _ Since when did a person have to steal their  _ own  _ things? _

Fifteen minutes later, re-dressed in a white oversized sweater, black leggings, and green-striped leg warmers, Jimin stepped back into the library. The curtains had been drawn back, letting sunlight into the vast room, illuminating the man sitting in the armchair, one leg swung over the other, reading _Spring Snow_ . A silly smile graced his lips as he hummed, looking rather picturesque with rays of light shimmering through violet hair.

❝Namjoon—❞

The elder male looked up, a surprised smile forming on his lips as he set aside the book. ❝Jimin! You❜re early, for once! We can start five minutes early and grab a snack when we❜re done?❞ He paused. ❝ _ Or _ we could just sit and read for the whole two hours, then get a snack.❞ 

❝That sounds  _ terrific _ ,❞ Jimin smiled, taking a seat. ❝And I❜d bet my hair-dye that you just want to see that cute chef you❜re pining after,❞ he added teasingly. ❝Or dating, if you❜ve made it past the ❛stare from afar and admire❜ stage." _Pause_. "Which I❜m pretty sure you have, from your very lovely getup.❞ He then removed the one  _old_ book he❜d found (and smuggled out)  from the the large hoodie pocket and flipped it open to his doggy-eared page.

Namjoon scrutinized his clothes—a pastel pink hoodie, a white shirt, and zebra skinnies (that Jimin would not hesitate to steal from him), narrowing his eyes at the younger, grinning, male, then glancing back down at his attire. He raised an eyebrow. ❝Is there something... wrong with it? I❜m not permitted to wear slutty garments when interacting with the sire❜s son, which I❜m not. I think I am allowed to wear pink, unless that is not allowed.❞ 

The rose-haired smiled wryly. ❝The pink pullover is Jin❜s—and don❜t you try convincing me that it❜s yours, because you wouldn❜t buy something like that,❞ Jimin pointed out, resting his elbows on his knees. ❝Tell me how you managed to swipe that from him. It❜s his favorite article of clothing and I literally  _ never  _ see him without it.❞ And it was true, for the head chef❜s clothing choice consisted only of hoodies that were the color of a certain embarrassed tutor, his apron (which was decorated with little sparkles), and (surprisingly) plain black sweatpants. 

Namjoon❜s cheeks colored pink.

❝Did you fuck him for it?❞ Silence. Jimin set the book aside, putting on his glasses and squinting at his tutor through the round lenses. The elder male shook his head finally, running his fingers through his hair. ❝Or did he fuck you? Wait, he did! Oh my gosh, where? What happened? What did he do to you? You.. You didn❜t do it  _ here _ , did you?❞ 

The violet-haired waved his hands wildly. ❝Don❜t use words like that so casually!❞ he hissed, rubbing his face with his palms as if it could clear the pinkness. ❝If you really want to know, search through the security feeds. I❜m pretty sure the sire❜s son would be permitted to the tapes, if you batted your eyelashes a little. All those shitheads want is a good fuck from anyone, since they❜re ugly asses and can❜t get laid on their days out.❞

Jimin❜s jaw dropped. He pointed an accusing finger at his teacher, his lips forming words though nothing but stutters and indignant gasps taking form. ❝You tell me not to say bad words, but you used practically all those I❜ve said in my life in one sentence! Some ❛good role model❜ you are.❞

The unsaid  _ I did not say anything, don❜t mind me _ hung in the air. ❝...Can we just read instead of discuss the sex lives of me and your father❜s staff?❞ 

Reluctantly, the younger relocated his book, glancing up at the clock. ❝We shall eat Jin❜s goodies in one hour and thirty nine minutes, and you, Namjoon, in more ways than one.❞ He winked. ❝If you want me to delete a couple videos from the security feeds just tell me. And please, please, ask Jin to make me cupcakes.❞

❝No, I will not request that sort of thing to be done by a child like you—even if you  _ are  _ twenty-one—since you are still a virgin and has not seen the dirty things of this world and you certainly do not need gay sex to be the first dirty thing that taints your mind. And no, if he says you aren❜t getting cupcakes, you aren❜t. Jin only withholds things that he does not believe to be good for you.❞

An indignant yelp. ❝I take offense to that! And why not, favor for favor?❞

❝ _ Hell  _ to the fuck no.❞

 

* * *

 

 

❝ _ I soon came to understand that drink, tobacco and prostitutes were all excellent means of dissipating my dread of human beings _ ,❞ Jimin quoted, whispering to himself as he dragged his feet down the carpeted hallways—practically everything but the bathrooms and kitchen sported a nice plush carpet that the cat liked tearing up—having almost memorized the book he❜d stolen two hours prior. His stomach was full, his tongue satisfied, and it was only the mind (and his eyes) that were to be relieved.  ❝ _ I came even to feel that if I had to sell every last possession to obtain these means of escape, it would be well worth it. _ ❞ 

A deep voice interrupted his mumbles. ❝Fuck yes that❜s right, for a lot of people, for me even. You don❜t look a day over eighteen, kid. Who❜s giving you prostitutes?❞ 

Startled, the pink-haired boy looked up—and his jaw seemed to lose its hinge. ❝U-Um... I was quoting a book. And I❜m twenty-one?❞ It came out more of a question than a statement, which Jimin wholeheartedly wanted to swallow back.  _ I don❜t even sound sure of my own age _ . An awkward silence ensued. ❝Ah-h... I❜ve never seen you before, who are you?❞

❝Mr. Park❜s ❛companion❜, SUGA, at your service,❞ the black-haired replied, bending into a neat bow. Jimin noticed the marks that decorated ❛Suga❜s neck, a pale blush tinting his cheeks. ❝And yeah, kid, you❜ve probably never met me before because I❜ve never been here before today. Who are you, and where❜s the bathroom?❞

Jimin blanched.  _ Mr. Park must mean my father... And is Suga or SUGA must be a stage name... There❜s no way that❜s his real name. _ ❝The bathrooms are down the hall, third fork turn right and then directly in front. I can... walk you there if you need, so you don❜t get lost...? And I❜m... Mr. Park❜s son.❞ He cringed at the title. ❝And I, uh. I live here. I didn❜t know my father was into men.❞

A dry laugh escaped Suga❜s equally dry-looking lips. ❝Trust me, kid,❞ he chuckled, threading slim fingers through his dyed blue-and-black locks. ❝The rich old men that hire us usually have some wife or partner or significant other that they❜re getting tired of. Since our place guarantees high-quality whores at nice prices, the rich old men flock to us. Most of my ❛co-workers❜, if you could call them that, are male. Nobody gives a shit whether it❜s a plastic woman or cheap man- _ whore _ they❜re ramming into, as long as they get off in the end.❞ The elder eyed Jimin❜s wide eyes. ❝Kid, not-kid, whatever you are,❞ he sighed, tilting his head. ❝You look pretty pampered. Haven❜t been out much, you❜re pretty dang pale.❞  _ Look in a mirror, Suga. _ ❝Selling our bodies is how us middle- to low-class shits get money. Unfortunately for about ninety percent of the population, not everyone has billions and trillions of cash gathering dust in some locked up safe. It❜s life, or what they say,  _ c❜est la vie _ .❞

❝I... I didn❜t know,❞ Jimin managed, shying beneath the elder❜s gaze. ❝I❜m not allowed outside very often, even on my own property... I haven❜t been shopping since I was seven.❞ He had  _ no _ idea why he was telling this to some stranger—prostitute?—but it seemed fair, seeing Suga had taught him more about the outside world that his own father had. ❝I want to change that. People don❜t deserve to have to whore themsel—❞

Something that sounded like choking cut him off. Jimin glanced quizzically at the elder, wondering why he had hunched over, his face contorted into some strange expression—then he realized that Suga was  _ laughing _ . ❝Did... I say something strange?❞

❝Kid, what do you think  _ you _ can do?❞ Jimin flinched at the bitter words. ❝Suddenly make people rich? There❜s no way. Ban whoring? It❜s already fucking illegal, but do you  _ think  _ we❜re getting thrown in prison cells if police officials are what make up twenty-five percent of our customers? Get your father and his jerks of business partners to  _ donate and give all their hard-earned cash to the poor _ ? You can❜t do  _ anything _ . These men spent their lives making that money, maybe sacrificing more than they should have or simply murdering their parents for inheritance. They❜re not going to suddenly wake up and have a change of heart, and dole out their money to  _ those in need. _ You❜re twenty-fucking-one or whatever age you are and you know less than a nine-year old kid born out on the streets. ❞ Suga paused for breath. ❝And I really need to wash my mouth out.❞ 

_In more ways than one, Mr Suga_.

Jimin bit his lip, holding back the retorts that may or may not sound stupid if they❜d exited his mouth. ❝C❜mon, let❜s just go to the kitchens. They❜re closer.❞ His fingers found Suga❜s wrist, pulling the slightly surprised elder male toward the kitchen. ❝Let❜s just hope that Jin hasn❜t gone to bed, because I can❜t cook to save my life,❞ he mumbled quietly to himself.

❝If it makes you feel any better, I had a friend that could legitimately burn water. Not sure where he is now since I haven❜t seen him since high school, but I hope he❜s okay,❞ Suga murmured.  _ Was I really that loud? _ ❝Also, since I legitimately  _ just  _ sucked your father off, I don❜t think I could hold anything down.❞

Say _what_?

❝I  _ am  _ a whore, you know,❞ the black-haired continued. ❝Whores have sex with people. They don❜t sit and entertain, that❜s a court jester❜s job. I get them off, collect the money, clean my mouth off with whatever expensive alcohol they put out, and leave. Or in your case, walk around looking for a bathroom to bathe my tongue in mouthwash, seeing your father❜s alcohols are fucking weak. Like he was expecting a girl or something.❞

_ No wonder Namjoon didn❜t want to talk earlier. This is so awkward.  _ ❝U-Um, so...❞ Jimin wracked his mind, thinking of some way to edge the topic away from whores and sex and whatever he was rambling about. They had fallen into a comfortable pace, Suga trailing slightly behind Jimin as they walked. ❝What❜s your name? I❜m Park Jimin.❞

The elder man raised an eyebrow. ❝Are you trying to do what those awkward couples-to-be do in movies, break the ice or whatever?❞ Suga asked, his voice tinted with amusement. ❝Nice to meet you Jimin, and I told you my name already.❞

❝No, your real one,❞ Jimin pressed stubbornly. ❝Suga isn❜t your real name, it❜s a stage name. People like you don❜t use their real names when dealing with clients—so if you upset or cut them off, they won❜t be able to find and sue you.❞

❝Right now I❜m wondering how the  _ fuck  _ you know stuff like this but don❜t know practically anything else,❞ Suga sighed, brushing strands of his dark hair away from his vibrant blue eyes.  _ Circle lenses, probably _ . ❝Hello, Park Jimin, my name is Min Yoongi and I❜m not really supposed to tell anyone this, but I❜m not supposed to be talking to you either so, fuck the rules.❞

A smile tugged at Jimin❜s lips. ❝Knew you❜d have a nice name,❞ he commented, half-to-himself. ❝Are you still thirsty?❞

❝My mouth tastes like cum, of course I am.❞

 

* * *

 

Jimin watched in amusement as Yoongi downed bottles of water like the drink of the gods, pausing ever so often to inhale a Listerine breath strip. Jin❜s frosted cupcakes sat on the table, creamy icing scraped off and disappeared down a certain pink-haired boy❜s throat. Four 500ml bottles were finished and Yoongi almost done his fifth, as well as one-and-a-half packages of the 3-24 breath strips gone, Jimin decided it would be better if he intruded— _ maybe _ he was a little bit curious to see if someone could die of over-consumption of water and breath strips, but it❜d be better if he didn❜t use a living thing as a test subject.

❝Uh, Y- Suga? I don❜t think you should have so many of those at a time...❞ he said awkwardly,  cutting himself off before saying the elder❜s real name. ❝Listerine strips shouldn❜t be taken so... quickly.❞ 

The glare that the ravenette shoots him makes his words die in his throat. (As well as lips snap closed, ears perk up, and tongue go absolutely, completely, utterly, dry.)  _ Do  _ not  _ interrupt my mouth washing session _ , it seemed to say. 

❝I do this every day,❞ Yoongi muttered, setting the empty plastic bottle on the table and screwing the cap off of another. ❝Only with slightly less expensive water, and I❜m still up and bouncing—❞  _ In more ways than one,  _ ❝—so I❜m either immune or going to die soon. Not that I would mind that much, to be honest. Dying, that is.❞ He eyed the clear liquid inside the bottle, swishing around in plastic confines. ❝Even your bottled water is the expensive brand,❞ he sighed, gulping down a few mouthfuls. ❝Hey, do you have any club soda?❞ 

Plates and cups stacked against each other in the cupboard, a blanket of thick grey dust coating just about everything (and now, Jimin❜s hair and fingers). ❝I❜m pretty sure Jinnie stocked up on seltzer water a couple weeks ago...❞ he mumbled, tugging open a particularly sticky cupboard. ❝Aha! Perrier good with you?❞ He brandished the (very dusty) green case proudly. ❝It❜s really not the best type we could get but it❜s great for skin care—❞

❝You are fucking with me right now,❞ Yoongi huffed, all his resolve set to stopping his jaw from falling off as he eyed the 12-pack of Perrier. ❝You use  _ Perrier _ to wash your face. Doesn❜t it burn... or something? This shit is expensive, I❜ve only had it like, once or twice. And you use it to... to make your skin look nice. And soft.❞ 

Jimin cocked his head. ❝I don❜t like the taste of plain carbonated water,❞ he said simply, popping open the glass bottle and sliding it toward Yoongi. ❝Is it really that expensive?❞

❝I forgot I was talking to a boy who doesn❜t know the devastation of being broke,❞ the elder muttered, gargling the bubbly water. ❝Less fortunate people,  _ like me _ , live paycheck to paycheck. Which  _ means  _ we can❜t spend three dollars on a bottle of water, much less use it to splash it over our faces. My gourmet dinner equals a cheeseburger at McDonalds. More often than not, I go to sleep feeling hungry because I didn❜t have time to drop by Costco. If I❜m lucky enough to  _ get _ sleep.❞

❝You❜re lucky, though,❞ the pink-haired boy murmured, absentmindedly. His eyes were trained on the elder❜s lips, swelling slightly from the minty breath strips and bubbling Perrier. ❝Really lucky.❞

Yoongi shot the younger a perplexed look. ❝ _ Excuse _ me? I would trade my shitty life for your cushy one in less than a second. How the hell am I  _ lucky _ ?❞

❝No, I don❜t mean that,❞ Jimin hurried to explain, drawing his gaze to the other male❜s bright blue eyes. ❝You❜re so free, you can do whatever you want without anyone judging you. I❜d like that freedom, honestly, not having to walk around on your tiptoes and think at night about just everything that goes wrong. I don❜t want to have to  _ ask _ someone to walk next to me everytime I wanna go out and shop, or explore. I just want to have a normal twenty-one-year-old Saturday, for once.❞

A long pause. ❝Then how about I take you someday?❞


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahh ,, idk where this came from

Jimin looked out for Yoongi. He opted to sleep in, go to bed earlier and read in the library— rather than do both, simultaneously, while walking around. Sometimes with bread hanging from his mouth. (He still did that, chewing on grilled cheese as he roamed the hallways of the mansion aimlessly.) He hoped to see the fluffy-looking black-and-blue dyed hair and flecked blue eyes. 

After all, the ravenette  _ had _ promised.

Unfortunately, his father hadn❜t seemed ❛in the mood❜ since. Like pretty much all his life, the Park family head threw himself headfirst into work. Jimin wouldn❜t see his father for days on end when he locked himself in his office, with an assistant and a private bathroom, he could probably live in there. He was half-certain there was a pull-out couch somewhere beneath the manila envelopes and filing cabinets, as well as a mini-fridge. Maybe. 

Briefly he wondered if he could purchase Yoongi❜s time alone. 

❝No, no no no no, Jimin, you❜re being bad,❞ he whispered to himself, knocking his head against his book. He couldn❜t concentrate on anything, and if the ever-perceptive Namjoon had noticed, he didn❜t mention anything. The purple-haired might not have looked it, but his glasses had some stupid superpower that could see inside someone❜s mind—or so it seemed. ❝Stop it!❞

The door swung open.  _ Speak of the devil. _ ❝Stop what?❞ Namjoon asked, scanning the library, a crooked smile stretched across his face as he brought his hands up in the classic fighting stance. ❝Whoever threatens my young protegee shall receive a beating from The Namjoon!❞ 

❝They would consider themselves lucky,❞ Jimin said shortly. ❝Jin says you can❜t punch.❞

Namjoon pouted. ❝Jinnie is a meanie, then,❞ the tutor responded, plopping down in Jimin❜s armchair. ❝Wanna read again like last week, instead? I just got back from the kitchen—❞

❝—from doing the frick-frack with  _ Jinnie _ —❞

(Namjoon shot the giggling pink-haired a burning glare.) ❝—and he❜s making brownies. Which you won❜t be getting any of, now, for being rude to your elders. Agh, stop poking your nose into my love life! If you want love, just ask your father. I❜m sure he had dozens of marriage proposals for you hidden in some drawer.❞

❝I don❜t want love though,❞ Jimin replied, knowing full well he was lying (Namjoon probably knew too, for he shot his student a skeptical look). The pink-haired fiddled with the hem of his blue loose-knit sweater. ❝I swear, I don❜t want love! Namjoonie, why don❜t you believe me?❞

_ Probably because it❜s not true _ . ❝Well, if you don❜t want love, buy a whore. They❜re people who make money having sex with people,❞ the tutor suggested casually. ❝I❜m sure you have enough money to buy a couple hours of some pretty girl❜s time. Or pretty boy❜s time, if that❜s the way you swing.❞ He stopped. ❝Not that you  _ should _ be having sex with whores. Honestly, Jimin, don❜t throw away your innocence to some groveling, cheap-ass whore. You❜ll regret that wholesomely when you find someone you want to stay with.❞

❝Are you speaking from personal experience?❞ Jimin asked, a faint chuckle slipping from his mouth. His fists clenched closed, his nails leaving little red crescents in the pale flesh. ❝I❜m always locked up in my own home, so I don❜t think I❜ll ever be able to meet that ❛someone❜. I love all the staff here, but they❜re all married or ten years older than me. Honestly, at this rate, I think I❜d have more luck falling in love with a prostitute.❞

❝I❜m literally telling you  _ not  _ to,❞ the elder sighed, bringing his hands to his face exasperatingly. ❝Prostitution is a steady job—the pay is high, and they❜re all so used to using bodies or having their bodies used. Sex to them is like eating and sleeping to us, and they don❜t  _ care _ if you❜re a fifteen-year-old or a fifty-year-old, they❜ll fuck if you pay. Love doesn❜t exist in their vocabulary. They don❜t do relationships.❞

_ Nobody gives a shit whether it❜s a rich woman or cheap man-whore they❜re ramming into, as long as they get off in the end. _ Yoongi❜s words echoed in Jimin❜s ears. ❝But can❜t I try? Isn❜t loving a prostitute better than being forced into some marriage you don❜t want?❞

❝If it were me, I❜d rather have an arranged marriage than try to date a prostitute,❞ the purple-haired breathed out, ❝they don❜t stay. They  _ can❜t _ stay. If someone were to catch them with you, they❜d lose their job. They❜d come running to you, either sobbing for you to take them in or yelling and cursing in every language they know.❞ He hesitated. ❝Did some whore catch your eye or something?❞

The pink-haired didn❜t answer. A groaning noise bubbled up from the elder❜s throat, distaste marring his normally mellow voice. ❝Park Jimin, please don❜t tell me you met some dirty hooker,  _ somehow _ , good God... You❜re  _ dreaming _ if you think whatever you❜re planning on doing is going to work.❞

❝He❜s not a dirty hooker,❞ Jimin mumbled, fisting handfuls of his shirt in his hands. His voice was almost too quiet to hear. ❝I just want a friend, is that too much to ask for?❞

A sharp inhale. ❝You don❜t need  _ whores _ as friends. You have friends, Jinnie, me. Why would you want more? If you want more, don❜t go searching for prostitutes as ❛friends❜—❞

❝What do you have against them?❞ the younger exploded. ❝The more we talk, the more I feel like we❜re talking about murderers. They❜re human, too. I don❜t  _ care  _ if some pretty call girl broke your heart. You❜re talking about them like they haunt you and want you to die. What happened between you and... them?❞

The doleful expression across Namjoon❜s face was enough to make the younger shut up. ❝You❜re too young to understand,❞ he whispered, pressing his lips together. The pink-haired might have felt sorry if anger hadn❜t crowded his head, his eyes flaring as he gazed upon his tutor. (He wasn❜t even completely sure of why he was so... upset.) ❝I❜m... I❜m sorry, Jimin. Please drop it.❞

_ You think I can just ❛drop it❜? _ ❝...Yeah, let❜s.❞ He fisted his hands in his lap and picked up his book, thrown messily to the side. Jimin❜s fingers flipped through the pages faster than he could read them, only little snippets of text forming in his brain.  _ Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness... I have always... with fright... human beings... The one thing I must... is becoming offensive in... eyes: I shall be nothing... the sky... What did he mean by ❛society❜? The plural of human beings? ... I can❜t even guess myself what it must be ... of a human being. _

His fingers loosened and the book fell to his lap, drawing the attention of his mentor, who❜s eyes widened at the water trickling from the corners of his eyes. (It would have been comical, large eyes appearing even larger behind perfectly circular glasses, except for the fact that his heart was fighting against his brain in a fistfight.) ❝Jiminnie... Are you okay? Sh, I❜ve got you...❞

A shaky sob-sigh burst from his quivering lips like water from a broken dam. ❝I... I don❜t know what to do... I really like him, as a friend I mean. He❜s the first person to speak to me like a... like a  _ person _ . Everyone else treats me like  _ Park❜s son _ , not as  _ Jimin Park _ . I want to be treated like... like I❜m  _ me _ , not my father❜s son.❞ He cried harder as his tutor❜s arms encased him in a gentle embrace. 

❝What❜s his name? Maybe I can get him a part-time job here as a janitor or kitchen helper, to be your ❛friend❜,❞ the elder shushed quietly. ❝Still, I  _ am  _ a little offended... don❜t I treat you like a  _ Jimin Park _ ?❞

Jimin❜s lips tugged into a slight smile. ❝No, you treat me like a baby,❞ he hiccupped, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. ❝Jinnie treats me like a pet, feeding me scraps from beneath the table. Very good scraps, though.❞ Rubbing his lips together, he opened his mouth to speak. 

❝His name❜s Suga. His stage name, at least.❞

* * *

Jimin peered over the purple-haired❜s shoulder as he typed, fingers digging into another of Jin❜s pink hoodies. Namjoon scrolled through dozens of photos, pausing at each one. A dull ache had begun to build up between his shoulder blades, bent awkwardly over the laptop. ❝Damn, he must be pretty popular if he❜s so high up on the list,❞ the elder commented, clicking the up arrow. ❝Are you sure we didn❜t skip over him? There are a lot of Sugas.❞

❝None of which that had black hair,❞ the younger replied. ❝Honestly, all we❜ve seen are white- or light-haired Sugas. Keep goi— Wait, stop, go back. He❜s... that one.❞ It was a photo of Yoongi, head tilted to the side, blue eyes shining in the artificial light. A black choker adorned the pale throat, glitter brushed onto his cheekbones. He looked nothing like the last night— perfect, decorated, glasslike.

Namjoon stiffened. ❝Are you sure that❜s him? Are you sure it❜s not... someone else?❞

❝I❜m sure it❜s him,❞ the pink-haired affirmed, clicking through the photo gallery. All of Yoongi❜s photos were beautiful— brilliant white feathers threaded through soft-looking dyed hair, glasses with thick black rims resting in a mess of silver, a striped button-down showing a little more skin that Jimin supposed was appropriate. ❝He❜s a strange person, to be honest. Swears a lot, and likes minty things. Do you know him?❞

A dark chuckle slipped from the elder❜s lips. ❝We❜re rather...  _ closely acquainted _ , if you could say that. Honestly, Jimin, Suga isn❜t a good person. Far from it. Unlike a lot of his ❛colleagues❜, he  _ chose  _ the job.❞

❝What do you mean? How do you know him?❞ Jimin asked, bewildered. ❝Namjoonie, what aren❜t you telling me? Why is Suga so bad? What did you have to do with him, ever?❞

Bitterly, the elder closed the tab, slamming the laptop down. ❝I told you, he❜s a bad person. If it were anyone else, I❜d help, but if it❜s him, I can❜t. I can❜t stand having his filthy soul near me. Did he  _ kindly  _ inform you about his ❛struggles❜? That❜s because he❜s a fucking slut and sleeps around outside of work, then ends up with dozens of debts to random people. Don❜t pity him, he brought his fate down on himself.❞ With a glance at the clock, his tutor stood up, turning to leave. ❝Well, I have to get going. We can postpone snack to some other time.❞

❝Namjoon!❞ the younger boy exclaimed furiously, leaping up to grab at his sleeve. ❝I  _ asked  _ you why you hate him so much. I asked you what he ever had to do with you. You owe me an answer.❞

❝I don❜t owe you anything,❞ came the sharp reply. ❝I❜m just staff and I happen to be around to put up with more.❞

Jimin released the sleeve, trying to use bitterness to mask his frustration as he spat out, ❝Fine. I thought we were friends, but I guess I❜m the only one stuck in an illusion where people actually  _ care _ about me.❞ The armchair sank around him as he sat, staring daggers into the bright pink cover of  _ No Longer Human _ . 

❝Min Yoongi was my mentor.❞ Was all the older male said, slamming the door sharply. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _spring snow_ \-- by yukio mishima  
>  _no longer human_ \-- by osamu dazai
> 
> ( no longer human is the book jimin was quoting in the second ,, part )


End file.
